


Breakable, Unbreakable

by Amberliuislife



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Angst, But only low-key I guess, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I'm bad at tags, M/M, Minor Character Deaths, So read the description xD, Swearing, anxiety/depression, crossover?, ghouls are magical creatures in the HP universe, not a lot of swearing but more than the books, slow-burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:54:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7734745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberliuislife/pseuds/Amberliuislife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy's birth is momentous for all the wrong reasons; when he's born, the room goes silent, and the air becomes tense. It couldn't be-- it's never happened. Two humans, giving birth to a ghoul? It was impossible, and yet, there he was. Eyes black where they should be white, with shocking red irises as he squirmed in the doctor's arms, too tiny to understand the gravity of his situation.<br/>Lucius and Narcissa only have one way to keep Draco alive, and so, Draco has no choice but to become a killer for his own survival. </p><p>Alternatively: Death Eaters refuse to accept the liability of having a ghoul in their ranks, so the only way Lucius and Narcissa can keep him alive is to promise that his condition can be useful in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold and Alone, it Suits You Well

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first fic, I hope you all enjoy it :) Feel free to leave suggestions and such in the comments, or like if you wanna be a beta for me, hit me up! I would appreciate it :)

  When Draco Malfoy was born, it was a momentous event for all the wrong reasons.

  First, the Malfoy family wasn't exactly a stable, wholesome family to be born into. Historically, they were entangled in the dark arts and supported Voldemort in the first wizarding war, and now that the second was just blossoming with whispers of Voldemort's return, they were supporting him once more. So Draco.... Well, he was never exactly being set up for success. Not in a world where he was destined to be on the side of evil.

  Second, he was a ghoul; when he was born, people in the room shrieked and scattered when they caught sight of his eyes, which were black where the whites should be and had shocking, bright red irises. See, a ghoul was quite a rare magical creature which looked and acted human, but the difference was in their diet. A ghoul couldn’t be satisfied or sustained by human food—no, the only thing that they could gain nutrients from was human flesh. Branded as monsters, they lived in the shadows, knowing that if they were discovered, they would surely be killed. Some ghouls ran rogue, claiming parts of the muggle world as well as the wizarding world as their ‘hunting grounds’. These ghouls were usually caught and disposed of before long, unless they moved around often enough, in which case, it was still only a matter of time before they were caught. Other ghouls tried to blend in with society, choosing to prey on humans who were already dead—more often than not, suicide victims or those who died in accidents. This way, it was much easier to avoid being found and they could live relatively guilt-free, knowing that they weren’t hurting anyone.

  Before Draco Malfoy, a ghoul had never been born of two human parents... How it had happened, no one knew. Tests were performed to prove that he was, in fact, the biological child of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. It made history, in all the wrong ways... So, it was kept a secret. Not that ghouls usually made their identity known, anyways.

  When Draco was a baby, they managed to sustain his health by feeding him blood from a bottle. As a toddler, it became more of a challenge when solid 'food' became necessary. The Death Eaters who knew about him debated whether it was even worth keeping him alive. He would just be a burden on them, a liability. And going around and killing people to feed a toddler who didn't really have a chance at any sort of future, anyways, wasn’t something they were willing to risk going to Azkaban for.

  Narcissa and Lucius finally made their case that Draco could be of use when he was older; when Voldemort returned, he would be having mudbloods and blood-traitors killed left and right! And Draco would be able to do all that dirty work. No one else would have to get their hands dirty if they could send Draco to kill Voldemort's targets, and they wouldn’t even have to worry about bodies being discovered because Draco would gladly… ‘Get rid of them’, everyone said, avoiding mentioning what he would really be doing.

  And so, that was how Draco grew up; if he didn't comply, he would be killed, or starve to death. So he played the part of Death Eater, killing in Voldemort’s name, like his parents and much of his family before him. It wasn't a choice that he made, it was something that he had to do, and as he grew up playing that part, it wasn't long before it came naturally to him. He stalked around the halls of his home and his school in a state of indifference, hurling insults and sarcastic remarks. It used to be a defense mechanism, to keep people away from him, to keep them from discovering the truth. Before long, it was just who he was.

  His 6th year at Hogwarts was no different; He was sitting in the Great Hall as students around him chatted happily, reuniting with friends they had missed over the summer and catching up on news.

  “You promised you’d write!”

  “How’s your brother?”

  “How was the trip?”

  No one spoke to Draco, though. No one asked about his family or asked how his Summer had been. He sat in a bubble of irritability that would have probably kept people at bay even if everyone didn’t hate him already. He glared down at his plate as though the piece of tableware had personally wronged him. It was empty, not because he wasn't hungry, but because human food tasted disgusting. Besides, if he tried to eat it, he would only end up being sick later, anyways. But he was starving. Starving for something besides the feast spread across the house tables. He hadn't eaten since week before last. He should have thought about it, but he had other things on his mind-- the dark mark freshly burned into his skin was a reminder of that. The consequence, though, was that he was now sitting in a very crowded room full of humans. Very delicious-smelling humans, tempting his hunger. He could only look down at the table, heart racing as he tried to ignore all of them until he could get out of there.

 

Draco spent the next couple of days in a similar state-- he barely had a sarcastic remark or snide comment to spare for anyone, because not giving-in to hunger took all of his energy. He had to be in control—if he lost control of his hunger, even for a moment, his eyes would turn from silvery-grey to red and black in an instant. Everyone would know. Currently, he was sitting in a classroom, a mixed Gryffindor and Slytherin Defense Against the Dark Arts class. His eyes were fixed on the book in front of him as he awaited the beginning of class, not really comprehending the words on the page. Blaise Zabini had been making one-sided small talk with him for the past few minutes, but stopped when Draco snapped at him. "Blaise, are you physically capable of doing anything but running your damn mouth?" Draco had said, slamming his hand on the table and glaring at his... 'Friend?' The tables around them had gone quiet, but Draco much preferred the quiet, and re-trained his eyes on his book with a huff as conversation around them re-started in quiet whispers and speculative mumbles.

* * *

 

  “I’m telling you Hermione, he’s up to something!” Harry exclaimed, looking at Hermione with an expression of pure exasperation. Hermione let out a longsuffering sigh, shaking her head. She had heard this at least four times now, and the year had only just started.

  “Harry, you always say that.” She sighed, “Maybe you’re right, and he’s become a Death Eater. Officially. So what does that change? Even if he just got the mark, he’s been a Death Eater for years, probably.” Harry opened his mouth with a retort, but closed it again when nothing came to mind. Hermione was right, he supposed.

  See, Harry was thinking that Malfoy was acting very strange—they had been back at Hogwarts for nearly a week now, but Malfoy hadn’t been himself. He wasn’t hurling insults at Harry every time they passed in the hallway, or giving him that stupid, self-satisfied smirk from across the Great Hall. On the contrary, he was always looking down when Harry saw him in the Great Hall, staring at his plate. In the halls, he had his head down, not giving anyone, even his friends, a passing glance. In class, he hadn’t been taunting Harry from across the room or enchanting cruel notes to fly to his desk. Harry was convinced that something had happened, that he was plotting something. Malfoy had definitely become a Death Eater. This worried Harry because there was now a Death Eater freely walking around the halls of Hogwarts. But Hermione was right—Malfoy had probably been a Death Eater for years. The fact that it had become official over the Summer (though Harry hadn’t _seen_ the mark himself yet) changed nothing. He had been free to plot before, he was free to plot now.

  So, Harry just sighed as he walked into the classroom, giving Hermione a sideways glare. Sometimes he hated when she was right.

  He glanced over at Malfoy, who seemed to be quite offended by whatever he was reading in the textbook. He always looked like that these days, though, glaring at whatever was in front of him as though it had insulted him or something. Harry sat down at his table with Hermione, just in time to hear Malfoy shout at Zabini, who was sitting beside him. _Odd_ , he thought, _they_ _usually_ _get_ _along_. He didn’t have long to wonder what Zabini had said to piss Malfoy off though, because Professor Snape entered the classroom at that moment. Harry resisted the urge to groan aloud—his favorite subject, now ruined by his least favorite professor.

  Snape waved his wand, and all the shutters in the room promptly slammed shut, eliminating the natural light that had been filling the room a moment before. “Open your books to chapter four.” He ordered. The Gryffindor students exchanged uneasy glances before complying uncertainly, while the Slytherin students followed the instructions from their head-of-house without hesitation. Snape didn’t wait for them to find the correct page before launching into his lecture, and the only sound in the dim classroom was of quills against parchment as students took notes.

  “Leave it to Snape to make the best subject boring.” Harry said as he, along with all the other students, exited the classroom; he stretched his arms above his head, groaning as he did so. “Feels like I’ve been in History of Magic.” He complained. Hermione shrugged—true, Defense Against the Dark Arts was meant to be a more hands-on subject, but perhaps Snape intended to integrate that later on? It was too early to tell, but Hermione knew that Harry was letting his hatred for Snape cloud his judgment.

  “I’m sure it’ll get better.” She assured, “Dumbledore obviously thinks he’s capable of teaching it, so we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.” Harry was just about to reply, but Malfoy walked past him at that moment, pushing through the crowd of students to get out the door as though he was in a hurry. In fact, it looked like he was in quite the rush to get somewhere, but where? They had plenty of time to get to their next classes, so it wasn’t like Malfoy was running late.

  “Oi, Potter can you kindly get out of the damn way?” Blaise Zabini pushed him aside, causing him to stumble a bit, before breaking into a short jog to catch up to Malfoy. Harry didn’t hear what was said between the two of them, but Malfoy snapped something at him before striding away, leaving Zabini looking confused. Zabini shook his head, then shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to walk towards his class.

  Frustrated, Harry was just as in-the-dark about Malfoy’s strange behavior as he had been before.

* * *

 

_Merlin_ , _doesn't Blaise_ _know_ _how_ _to_ _mind_ _his_ _own_ _business_? Draco stalked through the hallways at a brisk walk, his heart pounding. He had told Blaise to shove off at least three times that day alone, but he didn’t seem to get the message. Blaise must have no sense at all of self-preservation, because he was sticking himself right under the nose of a very, very hungry ghoul.

 This had to stop. Draco didn’t know how much longer he could walk around this school before his self-control gave out. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He couldn’t keep waiting for someone to show up in Hogsmead and summon him there to eat. He needed to take care of this himself—besides, he wasn’t a dog! Why did other people get to determine when he got to eat? 

  Draco spent the rest of the day in his dormitory, sitting on his bed with the curtains drawn. He felt as though he could barely breath, his heart beating sluggishly due to his hunger. He just had to get through the day, and when night fell, he could sneak out to Hogsmead. Finally, that time came—the other Slytherin boys were sleeping soundly in their beds, and Crabbe’s snoring drowned out the sound of their long, deep breaths. Slowly, as quietly as possible, Malfoy opened the curtains around his four-poster and stood up, his bare feet making little noise on the hard, chilly stone beneath them. He pushed the sleeves of his white button-up down, covering his dark mark and offering a bit of relief from the chill that always permeated the Slytherin dungeons.

  He crept into the common room, letting out a breath of relief when he found that no one was there. He was still careful as he left the room, though, closing the door quietly behind him only after glancing around to ensure that no teachers or prefects were around. With great care, he prowled through the castle. It took him longer than it normally would have to reach the Turris Magnus (the largest tower), but he knew that he couldn’t be rash and get himself caught. Once he reached it, he climbed the stairs as quickly as he could, knowing that there was nowhere he could hide if a Professor showed up. Finally, he reached the door he was looking for—Classroom 7A. The classroom wasn’t being used for anything this year, so it was completely empty, allowing Draco to let out a sigh of relief as he walked in, shutting the door softly behind himself.

  He walked swiftly to the left side of the classroom, yanking open the door to a closet, which was currently housing nothing but extra chairs. He moved them out of the way, resisting the urge to just grab them and throw them across the room. Finally, when the closet was empty, Draco crouched, reaching down to lift one of the large, stone tiles, revealing a passage underneath. He carefully started descending the ladder, which turned to stairs once he was on ground-level and continued underground. The passage flattened out, and Draco broke into a run, his hands shaking as his eyes faded from grey to red. He couldn’t help it—he wasn’t in control anymore.

  He reached Hogsmead, panting for breath as he emerged from a small, dark alley, where the passage let him out. He looked around frantically, the veins around his eyes constricting and becoming more prominent. He sniffed the air deeply—obviously, the scent of human was everywhere. But he needed a scent to follow, so he latched on to one particular scent and followed it, ending up outside of Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. He wrinkled his nose in distaste—he hated this place, and the woman who owned it was a complete loon. Well, he supposed, no one would have to deal with her after tonight.

  He walked around the side, looking for a discreet way to get into the flat in which Madam Puddifoot lived above the shop. He spotted a pipe that went all the way up to the roof and connected to the gutter, and also happened to run right beside a window. Draco reached out, grabbing onto the pipe; he struggled to get a proper hold on it that would allow him to climb, but then he remembered that he was, in fact, a wizard—hunger made him forget a lot of things, sometimes. Growling in impatience, he took out his wand and directed it at his right hand. “ _Epoximise_.” He did the same to each of his bare feet, then pocketed his wand once more and set about climbing up the wall, which was much easier as his hands and feet were now sticky, as though with a very strong glue. He reached up with the hand that wasn’t sticky, pushing the window open. It slid open quite easily, though with some scraping. The noise was apparently not enough to wake Madam Puddifoot, however, as she was still sleeping soundly as Draco crawled, spiderlike, through the window.

  He closed it, casting a quick locking spell on it before creeping forwards, towards the woman sleeping in the bed. She was a stout, middle-aged woman with black hair falling, unruly, over her pillow. Draco didn’t take much time to look at her, though—that wasn’t what he was here for. He reached over, sliding a pale, long-fingered hand over her mouth. In response to the cold touch, she stirred a bit, but her eyes shot open immediately when Draco’s teeth sank into the skin on her shoulders. She let out a shriek of pain, but it was muffled by Draco’s hand. Fearing that she would wake someone, and knowing that it was too late to cast a silencing spell on the room, he turned her over so that her face was buried in her pillow and he was on top of her.

  He ducked his head down, this time tearing a large bit of flesh from her neck. She was bleeding profusely, and it soaked through the pink fabric of her pillow and duvet. Draco barely noticed, however, too engrossed in the task of using his slender fingers to tear flesh from bone, shoving in his his mouth and closing his eyes, humming in delight as his hunger was finally satisfied. 


	2. If I Could Trade Mistakes for Sheep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's another chapter, and in case anyone wants to hit me up I'm still looking for a beta :)

 Malfoy was acting stranger than ever that day; Harry had been observing him, trying to catch a glimpse of the dark mark that was bound to be on his arm. He still hadn’t seen it, but he had noticed something else—Draco wasn’t glaring at his plate at breakfast, or at his textbook in class. On the contrary, his head hung and he didn’t seem to be focusing on anything in particular, and his face seemed devoid of any emotion. If anything, he maybe looked a bit… Sad? That wasn’t quite the word, but Harry couldn’t think of how else to describe it. That didn’t make sense, though, so Harry was sure he must be misreading Malfoy’s expression.

 Harry was pulled from his thoughts by someone’s elbow jabbing him in the ribs. Annoyed, he turned to face whoever had done it, only to find himself face to face with Ron, who was looking at him with irritation clear in his features. “What was that for?” He asked, rubbing his ribs and shooting Ron a sour look.

 “I _said,_ when are quidditch tryouts going to be?” He said, rolling his eyes.

 “He’s been askin’ since he got here, mate.” Seamus spoke from a few spaces down, before shoving a scone into his mouth. Harry shook his head, giving Seamus (who just shrugged before carrying on his conversation with Dean) a dirty look. Didn’t anyone know how to mind their own business?

 “I was thinking next week.” Harry said, turning to look at Ron, who was waiting expectantly for an answer, “D’you think that’s too late?” Ron shook his head, visibly relaxing.

 “No, it gives you plenty of time to get the word around.” He said, “Last year, Angelina could barely keep a full team together with all that shit with Umbridge going on.” Harry nodded—he had been banned from the team last year, but he remembered how Angelina had struggled, juggling the roster with students constantly getting in trouble or getting hurt.

 “So better to have more people than not enough.” Harry agreed, “Are you trying out for keeper?” Ron nodded.

 “Ginny’s trying out for seeker again.” He added; Harry nodded slowly to this. Ginny was a phenomenal seeker, there was no doubt about that—he would be a fool not to put her on the team. And having more than one seeker on the team (himself and Ginny) would help ensure that they never had to substitute someone inexperienced in.

 “Good, the team could use her.” Harry said. There was a selfish part of him that was reluctant to share his position with someone, but his common sense outweighed it. He and Ron continued to eat and chat about Quidditch and classes, and Harry failed to notice when Malfoy got up and walked from the Great Hall.

 

* * *

 

 

 Draco tried to look casual and normal, but his stride was a bit stiff as he left the Great Hall. He still had at least half an hour before class, but he couldn’t stay put in the Great Hall, surrounded by people. It wasn’t hunger that overwhelmed him this time, though. He just couldn’t stand the sound of their voices. It was too noisy. Everyone was talking at once, laughing, generally being happy and normal. But Draco couldn’t remember the last time he felt less normal than this.

 When he left the chatter of voices and clatter of silverware on dishes behind, he let out a long breath, leaning against the wall. The corridor he was in seemed to be deserted, and he was grateful for a moment to himself. _Why are you being like this?_ He asked himself, _It’s not like you just murdered her for no reason. It was her or you._ Draco supposed that, in that sense, the murder he had committed the night before wasn’t any different from previous murders. If he didn’t kill _someone_ , he would have starved to death! It was her or him. It wasn’t that different from his usual motivation, which was something along the lines of ‘obey or die’. It was them, or him. Selfish? Yes, but Draco always knew that.

 He ran his fingers through his hair, sighing heavily once more. The guilt of having murdered someone of his own volition still weighed heavily in his chest, but it was slightly lessened by the fact that it was life or death. Killing to save his own skin was something he was used to. Besides, he wasn’t the only person who would kill someone to save his own life—hell, even some of those do-gooders in Gryffindor would do it, even if they wouldn’t admit it.

 “Draco?”

_Fuck._ Draco hesitated for a moment before looking up from the ground to see Blaise walking towards him. His friend was casual as ever, and looked only mildly concerned. Well, ‘friend’ was a bit of a strong word. More like… Person who seemed to like being around Draco even though he was a complete tosser. Person whose company Draco could tolerate. And, as of late, person who couldn’t take a hint when Draco wanted to be left alone. (And it _wasn’t_ endearing—that would imply that Draco and Blaise were really friends, which they _weren’t.)_ “What do you want?” Draco said irritably, crossing his arms. Blaise didn’t seem offended, but then, he never really did. He was quite level-headed.

 “What’s wrong?” It wasn’t a question of whether or not something was wrong—Blaise could tell that there was, and Draco kind of hated him for that.

 “Nothing.” He lied. Blaise rolled his eyes.

 “Oh, okay.” He said; there was a short moment of silence in which Draco thought Blaise may actually drop it, but that hope was short-lived. “I aced my History of Magic quiz.” Blaise said matter-of-factly. Draco raised an eyebrow in confusion at Blaise, who had taken a seat with his back against the wall across from him. “What? I thought we were telling lies.” Draco groaned, shaking his head.

 “Fuck off, Blaise, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 “Why don’t you want to talk to me about it?” Blaise pressed. Draco sighed, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to rest against the wall.

 “Because it’s private.” He said, shrugging, “It’s none of your business, Blaise.”

 “It’s my business because you’re my friend, Draco.” Blaise responded stubbornly. Draco couldn’t tell if Blaise was wearing him down, or if he was just getting more and more annoyed. Perhaps it was both.

 “If I told you, you’d regret asking.” He said, changing courses, “So just leave it, alright?” He shot Blaise a glare, hoping that would intimidate him into staying quiet. But Blaise was unfazed.

 “You can’t do that to me.” He stated plainly. Then, in response to the confused look he received from Draco, sighed and rolled his eyes. “Draco, I’ve known you for years. You’ve got this whole ‘I don’t need friends’ thing going on, and I don’t know if it’s pride or fear or what. But I do know it’s not real, and you’re my friend. And friends help each other out. You can’t just look at me like that and expect me to leave you alone like everyone else.”

 Draco wasn’t sure whether to scoff at Blaise’s sentimental nonsense, or be impressed that Blaise found him so transparent. “Fine.” He sighed, “Look, I’m not going to tell you what’s wrong. But… I appreciate you trying to help, anyways. Okay? Even though I always say that we’re not friends.” Blaise seemed quite pleased by this answer and smiled widely, his coffee-colored eyes lighting up as he smiled.

 “Now shove off, I came out here to be alone.” Draco snapped, looking away and crossing his arms, “Can you go one day without sticking your nose in my business?” Instead of being offended by Draco’s sudden hostility, Blaise seemed to find it rather amusing, because he laughed—a loud, boisterous laugh that filled the quiet corridor. Draco didn’t look up at him as Blaise got to his feet, sticking his hands in his pockets in a relaxed fashion before strolling off down the hallway.

 “Later, twat.” Blaise chuckled.

 

* * *

 

 

 “Harry, that’s probably one of the worst ideas you’ve had.” Ginny said bluntly. Harry, looking quite offended, opened his mouth to argue, only to be cut off by Hermione, who was sitting with her back to the fire with a textbook open in her lap.

 “She’s right.” Hermione said, though she looked a bit more sympathetic than Ginny, “That would never work; even if you did manage to sneak in behind someone—“

 “Which you wouldn’t be able to do without being noticed.”

 “—what would you do once you were there? Hide out until everyone is asleep? You have no idea how long that could be. What if you get shut out of the dormitory? You won’t see anything and it’ll be a waste. Harry, you’re wasting your energy, you should just focus on your classes.” Ginny nodded her agreement.

 “Besides, imagine if you get caught.” She agreed, “What’s that going to look like? You’ll never hear the end of it. You won’t be ‘the boy who lived’ anymore, you’ll be ‘the boy who tried to catch the Slytherin boys in their knickers’.”

 “Mm, that’s not very catchy.” Ron chimed in from the couch across the common room. Harry groaned, rolling his eyes. Why was everyone against him?

 “Well, do any of you guys have a better idea?” He asked in an exasperated tone. Ron just shrugged, while Ginny sat back in the large, fluffy armchair in which she sat with a shrug.

 “You should just try being patient for once.” Hermione sighed, though her tone said that she didn’t expect Harry to follow that advice. “It won’t do any good if you see the bloody thing, anyways.” It was impossible to argue with Hermione because, well, she was pretty much always right, it seemed. So Harry said nothing more on the topic. For now. Instead, he struck up a conversation with Ginny about Quidditch tryouts, which she seemed quite enthusiastic about. Much less nervous than Ron, who seemed to doubt his ability to make the team this year, despite encouragement from Harry and Hermione and some ribbing from Ginny.

 

 Hermione was right that sneaking into the Slytherin common room under his invisibility cloak was a bad idea—hell, she was right that nothing would change if he saw Malfoy’s dark mark, too. But the curiosity was overwhelming, so Harry found himself spending quite a lot of time waiting for Malfoy to slip up. For his sleeves to be rolled up, for him to raise the wrong hand to answer a question. He wasn’t thinking about it or really doing it consciously, but it happened so often over the next few days that finally, his friends couldn’t take it.

 “Merlin, Harry, if you don’t stop staring at him, he’s going to notice.” Ron, exasperated, had caught Harry staring openly at Malfoy from across the potions classroom. Malfoy was stirring his potion with a bored expression on his face, staring at the front wall of the classroom with his legs propped up on a chair that was on the other side of the table. Meanwhile, most of the rest of the class were still chopping, crushing, and measuring ingredients with a general air of stress about them.

 “Sorry, sorry.” Harry said, shaking his head and looking into his and Ron’s cauldron, “I just… Keep thinking he’s going to slip up.” Harry supposed he should know better than to think Malfoy would do something so clumsy, though. He was much too poised, everything he did was deliberate. He wouldn’t so much as look a certain direction without intent and motivation.

 “Well pay attention to this for now, would you?” Ron huffed, “I’m not doing all the work and letting you take half the credit.” While that was quite harsh for Ron, Harry supposed that it was fair. He should be working on the potion, not staring at Malfoy from across the room.

 

 “Excellent work, Mr. Malfoy! And without a partner, too; twenty points to Slytherin!” Draco was used to receiving praise for his work in potions, but he’s not accustomed to Professor Slughorn’s overzealous way of delivering praise. Despite being taken slightly off-guard by his enthusiasm, Draco’s expression didn’t change.

 “It’s just dogbreath potion, it’s not that complicated.” He shrugged, casting a glance around the room to find himself the recipient of a mixture of disbelieving and aggravated looks from his peers. “If you’re not substandard.” He said, an arrogant smirk on his lips. His classmates, whom he had collectively insulted, started packing their things and mumbling huffily to one another. Satisfied, Draco packed up his things quickly and neatly and left the dungeon ahead of everyone else.

 Now, Draco wasn’t necessarily just pleased with himself for insulting everyone, though he had to admit, he did get a certain swell of pride from being the best at something. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but gloat. More importantly than feeding his own ego, though, it insured that no one tried to talk to him, even in passing. Especially Potter, who Draco knew found his haughtiness especially vexing. If Potter ever tried to talk to him, it was just to pick a fight, and that was how Draco liked it.

* * *

 

Harry walked with the rest of the class out of the potions classroom, not failing to notice that Malfoy was the first to leave, as always. Why was he always in such a hurry? He seemed to have such a routine of putting his things away that he could do it in a few seconds flat and be out of the classroom before anyone else even got up to leave. He would admit, begrudgingly, that it was impressive, but why was it necessary?

For once, Harry wasn't the only person paying attention to Malfoy's behavior. "... Even more of a git than usual today, isn't he?" Ron was saying, looking sourly after Malfoy, "Pompous asshole, honestly." Harry nodded-- Malfoy was incredibly arrogant and vain, and it showed more than ever when he did something well because he always bragged. If he was trying to make friends, that wasn't the way to go about it. Surely Malfoy knew that?

Harry and Ron chatted as they walked towards their next class, complaining about Malfoy at first before starting to talk about the mountain of homework that they needed to get done soon. Harry excused himself to the toilet before they reached the classroom, though, so Ron went the rest of the way without him.

When Harry walked into the bathroom, he was met with one of the last things he expected to see-- Draco Malfoy. Not just washing his hands or fixing his hair in the mirror, but holding out his left arm, the sleeve of his robes pushed up to the elbow. In his right hand, he was holding a small vile of a light brown liquid, and seemed to be in the middle of rubbing it on his left arm, where the skin was red and irritated in reaction. But none of that mattered, because the thing Harry's eyes locked onto was the dark mark, which stood starkly against Malfoy's pale skin. His eyes flicked up to Malfoy's face, to find that Malfoy wasn't glaring at him or smirking or any of the things Harry would have expected. His eyes were wide in shock, and as their eyes met, Harry could see that Malfoy's were full of terror. The vile fell from Malfoy's hand, shattering on the floor, before Harry was being pushed aside and Malfoy was gone in a flurry of panicked footsteps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who's reading this! Every time I get kudos or someone bookmarks the story, it honestly makes my day, like thank you so much :) I hope you guys continue to enjoy the story!   
> Also, I have a YouTube channel! I mean, I've got like 6 subscribers but hey, it's there if you wanna check it out :) I'm going to be uploading weekly starting this week :) https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC2-BBA3eIVfIpjgV5e0pRYQ


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